The Billionbear's Bride: BBW Bear Shifter BWWM Paranormal Romance (4 page)

And it was outfitted with silk sheets. If Violet wanted comfort, she could find it there. She could slip between the sheets and feel their smooth shine against her skin, and sink into the mattress that was as soft as a cloud.

The image brought others to his mind. His imagination worked in feverish overtime. He wanted to lavish her with all the attention she deserved, and then some. Running his hands over her dark skin. Cupping her generous breasts, caressing them, playing with her dusky nipples until they stiffened. Maybe she would make that sound again, the moan that emerged from her when she slipped chocolate past her lips.

The thought went straight to his cock. Bruce was almost painfully hard.

She touched him. Her fingers trailed down the inside of his forearm. Even after she snatched away her hand, the imprint of her fingers lingered on his skin, drawing him in. He was uncomfortably aware of his own arousal.

He didn't just want her. He ached for her through his whole body. He needed her. He loved her.

And he couldn't tell her.

She cleared her throat, letting the curtain close over the city, and now there was a twinkle in her eye. The hurt and pain had disappeared from her expression—or maybe she was only now wearing a mask again.

"Ready to meet Elvis?" she asked.

"I hear he's been sighted around here," he said gravely, and they both grinned.

Chapter Five

Violet

Violet hadn't ever imagined being married by Elvis in a Vegas wedding chapel, but if she had, the reality would have exceeded her wildest imaginings.

"I think the pink Cadillac really makes your eyes pop." Leaning back into the limo's leather seat, she held the photo up so Bruce could see. It showed them both in the front seat of the Cadillac in their wedding garb—and in Bruce's case, a chapel-provided Elvis pouf. Violet was holding a plastic bouquet in a riot of color.

"Definitely." He slanted a grin at her. They were sitting close together, their shoulders touching, almost leaning into each other. "I like how you hitched your blue suede shoes up on the dash."

"I'm a classy lady like that."

"I can tell."

Getting hitched had been more fun than Violet remembered having in a very long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much, especially when the Elvis impersonator-slash-minister began singing as he walked her down the aisle. It was the kind of ridiculousness that looked silly and dumb from the outside but was insanely fun to participate in on the inside. In the limo, she was still more than a little euphoric.

It helped that Bruce—billionaire, inventor, genius Bruce, Wanda's boss Bruce, whom she'd met in a business suit—had wholeheartedly embraced the fun alongside Violet. He took to the Elvis wig like a fish to water. In fact, he was still wearing it.

"Are you going to be Elvis all night?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow and suppressing another giggle.

"If the little lady wants …" He modulated his voice and accent to sound like Elvis. Well, kind of like Elvis. If Elvis were drunk, maybe.

"I've figured it out!" she crowed giddily. "Your deep, dark secret!"

"I have a deep, dark secret now?"

"You have to." Violet poked him in the arm. "You're a billionaire, and you're actually nice and funny"—and sweet, and stunningly good-looking, and no, she wasn't going to say
that
to his face.

He was so tall, even sitting down—he leaned over her. Warmth spread through Violet. "So what's my secret?"

"It's a tragic story," she began. "When you were young, you desperately wanted to be an Elvis impersonator. You worked so hard on your craft. Day and night, you sang 'Heartbreak Hotel' to yourself into the end of a hairbrush. But it was not to be. You just weren't good enough. You had to leave the city."

She could feel the laughter shake all through his body where it was pressed against hers. "So I decided to become an inventor instead," he finished.

"Sometimes you still think about it wistfully, though."

"It's true. There's a white jacket in the back of my closet, covered in rhinestones. Once in a while I take it out, try it on …"

The limo came to a stop, so slowly and smoothly she almost didn't notice until Bruce stepped out, holding the door open, and extended a hand to her.

Violet took it, holding tight, and stepped out into the warm evening air. She didn't recognize their surroundings; this wasn't their hotel. She shot an inquiring look at Bruce. "Where are—?"

He grinned. "I thought we could celebrate by getting some dinner."

The city stretched tall above them, sparkling with lights and possibility. She spied dozens of places within walking distance where they could get a bite, from the classiest joints to food trucks. "Where are we eating?"

Bruce winked at her. "You'll see."

He didn't take her to any of the places lit by neon signs, nor to any of the obvious restaurants. Not even to one of the food trucks—even though she could smell the delicious, probably unsafe fried food from where she was standing. Instead, he led her down a dim alley with a reassuring smile—"Don't worry, they just like to be discreet"—and to a completely unassuming back door. It looked like the kind of door people sold drugs out of, if she was being honest.

When Bruce knocked, a strip came away and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out. "Davis reservation for two," Bruce said easily, like he'd done this a thousand times.

They were admitted—so secretive!—and it turned out the restaurant was one of those places where the inside was completely different from the outside. Outside was a ragged, industrial alley in a big city—fluorescent, neon, and steel everywhere. Inside was a luxurious ranch-style steakhouse with wood and warm lights. Despite the air of luxury, it had a homey feeling to it.

Violet curled her hand around Bruce's arm as they went up a set of narrow stairs. "Have you been here before?" she whispered. It was the kind of place that made you want to whisper.

His smile flashed down at her—but there was a slightly anxious edge to it. "Yes, it's one of my favorites. What do you think of it? So far, I mean."

Violet bit her lip to stop from grinning. That warm feeling was coming back again, pooling low in her gut and making her skin tingle with the nearness of him. He had shared something with her, something he liked, and he wanted her to like it, too.

He’s just being a gentleman
, she reminded herself.
No sex, no feelings, no complications, remember?

"If the food holds up to the atmosphere, I'll be impressed."

"It's the best," he murmured, a low intensity to his voice that made her shiver and press herself harder against his arm. Against her
husband's
arm. She could call him that.

They were seated at a booth that was spacious, yet cozy: they could hardly see or hear other diners. The menu was the type where there were no prices listed next to the items; it was
that
expensive, she guessed.

He ordered some kind of steak with an odd name, and she went for a salad. Even though the booth was big, she sat close to him; he didn't seem to mind.
T
hey shared a bottle of wine—something vintage and red she didn't recognize from the grocery store shelves, of course, and it was delicious—and she offered up a toast.

"To fake relationships," she said, holding her glass up.

His smile dimmed slightly, but he clinked his glass against hers. "And to real ones."

He was looking at her seriously, somehow meaningfully, even though she wasn't sure what exactly the point was. Blood rushed to her face.

"Well, now you know my deepest secret," he continued, as if there hadn't just been a moment between them. "You have to tell me yours."

It was all in her head, she told herself, but the words seemed weak. Violet wagged a finger. "Nuh-uh. That wasn't a trade."

"Maybe not your
deepest, darkest
secret," he allowed generously. "We can save that for day two of our marriage. But you can tell me something."

She took a sip of her wine. "What would you like to know?"

He studied her for a minute. "What do you want, more than anything in the world?" he asked.

What a question! She didn't even know where to start answering it, and gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I think I kind of already have it. Jana's health taken care of," she explained.

"Not what you need," clarified Bruce. "What you want, that you don't have."

Violet thought of her fantasy—the handsome man riding in to save her. She couldn't say
that
. What else did she want? An image of the sad sage plant in her apartment came to mind.

"A garden," she said definitively. "I've always wanted to live somewhere I could have my own garden." He hummed thoughtfully. "I've lived in apartments my whole life," she added. "A little bit of land to all my own—I'd like that."

It sounded silly when she said it like that, but he nodded understandingly. "I know what you mean. There's nothing like having a little breathing room. That's why I like this place. The city can be so …"

"I know exactly what you mean," she said when he trailed off in search of the right word. Like they had a mind of her own, her fingers brushed the back of his hand. Their gazes locked.

They were interrupted by the arrival of their food. Startled by her own forwardness, Violet jerked her hand away and slipped it back into her lap.

"You
have
to try this," he said, cutting off the first piece of his steak when the server had left. Then he paused, eyeing her salad. "Unless you're a vegetarian?"

Violet laughed. "No, I eat meat."

"This is wagyu steak," he said. He held up his fork; he intended her to take a bite from it. Leaning toward him, she closed her lips around the single bite, aware of his eyes on her the whole time. She was aware of how intimate a gesture it was—weird to say when you'd just
married
someone, but maybe that just made it more so.

The meat was decadently rich and silky, like nothing she'd ever tasted.

"I’ve never had a steak like that. What
was
that … wagyu?" She didn't think she was pronouncing it right.

"Cattle from up in the mountains of Japan," he explained. "They have a lot more fat than our American cows marbled through the meat, which makes it more tender and juicy. This is true wagyu, not that hybrid stuff. There's nothing like it. Doesn't need a sauce or anything."

"I have limited culinary experience, but I have to agree." But one thing niggled at her. In a hushed voice, she asked, "How much did that cost?"

Bruce winked at her and cut a bite off for himself. "I never buy wagyu and tell."

"I'm going to assume I just ate a fifty-dollar slice of steak," she decided.

"Care to make it a hundred?" He held out another bite for her, cupping his hand under the fork. It brushed her chin when she took another bite. She giggled at the slight awkwardness and closeness of the gesture.

Of course, she had to share, too, although she doubted her salad was made of hundred-dollar lettuce. His eyes darkened when she leaned over to feed him—she ducked her head under the intensity of his gaze. Even though she'd only had one glass, the wine must have gone to her head.

Bruce was a perfect gentleman for the rest of the evening, and she floated back to the hotel room—back to the honeymoon suite—as if she were on a cloud.

Bruce unlocked the door to their suite and propped it open, blocking Violet's way in.

"I think we should do this the traditional way," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Violet stared at the doorway, then back at Bruce, biting her lip. "You sure that's a good idea?" She hoped she sounded discouraging.

Not enough, apparently. "A little lady like you?" he said, and there was that Elvis voice again. "Light as a feather, I bet."

He
was
a big guy: well over six feet, broad shoulders, muscles all over. And he wasn't an idiot. Violet looped her arms around his neck and said quietly, "If this goes wrong, big guy, it's all on you."

He didn't dignify that with a response: instead, he swooped Violet up in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. She couldn't quite hold in the shriek that came out, or the laughter that followed (part relief, but mostly joy).

He carried her over the threshold, kicking the door closed behind them. She expected him to put her down right away, but instead he took her all the way into the bedroom and sat her gently on the edge of the bed.

She was reluctant to let go of him; instead, she twined her fingers together around the back of his neck, feeling the short bristles of hair there. The suite had seemed a bit silly and over-the-top yesterday, but tonight it seemed romantic, as if it reflected Violet's own mood. The rose petals were charming rather than cheesy, and the dim lights made any fantasy, no matter how silly, seem possible.

Bruce didn't pull away; he seemed perfectly content to be held there by her hands. His own hands came up to frame her face between them, stroking her with his calloused thumbs and sending tingles across her cheeks.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured.

Her heart did a pitter-patter beneath her ribcage, so quick and frantic she was surprised he couldn't hear it.

Maybe he did. Maybe that was what prompted him to kiss her.

His lips were warm and soft on hers. His five-o’-clock shadow scratched at her: rough, but it set her nerves aflame. Leaning into him, Violet deepened the kiss. In the back of his throat, he made a little rumble of satisfaction.

He took the invitation to heart; his tongue delved into her mouth, exploring her depths. His fingers tightened, gentle but needful on her skin. It was as if he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

In the thrall of his hot, intense kiss, her worries seemed distant.
A business arrangement
.
No feelings, no sex, no complications
. The words echoed, but didn't take hold in her mind. She spent her life looking after others—first Jana as a kid after their parents died, and now as an adult. Couldn't she have something she wanted, just this one time?

He pulled back. There was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. “I know what we said,” he murmured, looking at her with what could only be described as longing. “Are you okay with this? Do you want this?”